Doll
by The Bitch Who Died
Summary: When she's 14, her heart becomes a plaything for boys. But it's okay. She's used to being a plaything for them. /or/ She can't let the porcelain chip away. \One-shot/ [thundercest] [max/phoebe] (Also on my Wattpad account, The0ddest0ne0fAll) R


She brushes through her thick, chocolate curls in front of her shimmering mirror. She's a good girl. She gets straight A's, she does charity, she's pretty, too. Like a doll.

So she plays the part just like a good girl.

That's what people want, after all.

* * *

"Phoebe, do you wanna go get pizza after school?" Cole Campbell, the basketball captain, asks her after third period.

"I'd love to," she smiles sweetly even though she has an essay, a lab report, and math homework to do. Because pretty, nice girls are supposed to say yes when the cute boy from the basketball team asks them out. And anyways, she's supposed to be smart enough to do it all.

"Great," he grins but there's something wrong. She can see malicious flickering behind his pearly whites. She can see cunning burning in those beautiful eyes. But she's a good girl so she says nothing.

* * *

He plays her heart. He tampers with and strings along and taints her pure heart. She trudges through pitying looks and murmurs of the scandal because she's still the good girl, she's the victim of the blonde heartthrob.

She's the good girl.

So she dabs at her red eyes and buries her head in a welcoming shoulder.

It's what they expect a good girl to do.

* * *

She smiles and waves at Max when she sees him. Good girls smile sweetly at their brothers in the hall and say hello, after all. He ducks behind Sarah.

There's a pang in her chest and a suffocating burning in her throat.

But good girls don't cry when bad boys ignore them. Even if the bad boy is her brother. But her nails slip into her forearm for just a second.

That little voice in the back of her head scolds her, _good girls don't ruin their pretty skin. You're supposed to be like porcelain, darling. Don't start being plastic. Bad girls are plastic._ She takes a deep breath and notices a cute boy giving her a once over. A light smile stretches across her dolled up lips and she gives a small wave. He saunters over.

* * *

He tosses her heart out when he's bored. She breathes deeply. Fine. He's a bad boy, she's a good girl. She's the victim. She's their precious, heartbroken angel again.

Warm arms greet her, gentle hands braid her hair and make her even prettier.

She's a good girl so she sits still while they work.

* * *

_It's okay,_ she tells herself, _it's okay._ She's a good girl. She won't snap because Max is kissing a girl in the living room. Her brother can't make her snap. He's a bad boy, he can't do anything to a good girl.

Even if he shoves his tongue down that girl's throat. Which he does. And he sticks his hand under her shirt. And he dips his fingers into her skirt's waist band.

Phoebe clears her throat, "I'm home."

It's not vindictive or manipulative or vengeful. She's a good girl and she didn't want to see that.

* * *

A boy in dressy clothes asks her to a movie the next day. She smiles that perfect, doll smile and accepts because she's nice. He grins. She knows that grin. Cole wore that grin, the bad boy wore that grin.

She knows her heart is about to be his rag doll.

Well, that's what they think. Her heart is taken. And if they knew who stole it, she wouldn't be a good girl anymore. But no, she's being stupid. She's tired, not thinking straight. She just gave her heart to the cute boy in glasses and a cardigan. And that's the honest truth. She's a good girl and good girls don't lie.

* * *

It takes 2 months. They look and see a good girl whose heart has been smashed again. They see a good girl who keeps giving her heart to the wrong boys with greasy fingers.

She plays along like always because she likes to think it hurts.

Her hands curl into small, nervous fists when he pulls her into a hug. But it's because it takes her by surprise. She's a good girl, after all.

* * *

She realizes the mirror has slipped a little. Whoops. Not so picture perfect now. Not in anyone's eyes. They're getting sick of boys dropping her heart. How many has it been now? 12?

She brushes her thick curls out and breathes deeply.

She's a good girl. She needs to sleep.

* * *

He sighs when her legs tremble. She's soaked, head to toe. "He ditched you?" It's barely a question. He knows the answer.

She nods gingerly, careful not to expose her indifference. Good girls are supposed to cry when their hearts are smashed. No matter how used to it they are.

"I'll get the hot cocoa mix," he murmurs.

"Thank you," her voice cracks. That little voice in the back of her head reminds her that she's a good girl. And she plops down on the coach, crossing her legs.

She scratches that porcelain layer while she waits. She likes the sight of the raw, red flesh. For once, it's real. Not plastic like the little voice always promises. But maybe it just looks real.

. . .

She doesn't want to make them frown at her. _Good girl._

* * *

She remembers to smile brightly, stretching those painted lips out. She doesn't wince even though it hurts. She wants to make them happy, after all.

They smile right back, even the tired, wary ones. But she can see the subtle annoyance underlining it. She's not stupid, after all.

She sits quietly and waits for the next boy to decide they want to play her. Because she's a good girl and she does what they want.

* * *

The porcelain is starting to burn her. It's getting itchy and claustrophobic and prickly.

She scratches at it and the layers peel away and pack themselves under her manicured nails. She likes the sight of raw, red flesh, she knows it's not plastic. She's felt crimson trickle out of it.

She likes the little moments but they always stop too quickly because she's a good girl.

* * *

Screams are chalked in her throat from years and years of suppression. Years of being a good girl, their pretty, pretty doll.

She wants, more than almost anything, to let them out. To scream and scream and scream. To _not_ be the good girl. To not be nice. To just be Phoebe. Just for a minute. A small taste of freedom, just once. Just a sample of what she can't negotiate.

Because she's the good girl.

* * *

It's driving her insane to be _their_ rag doll. All the stupid boys she doesn't want to say yes to anymore, she never wanted to say yes. But they expected her to. They were _always_ watching and she could never say no or she would stop being the good girl and they would all wear those frowns she hates so much.

She wishes it were easier.

That he wasn't her brother. Because sisters don't love their brothers like this. And good girls don't love bad boys like this either.

* * *

The show must go on though. Someone has to make them all smile in pride. Someone has to get straight A's and do charity and be pretty as a doll.

Nora is only 8. She won't force this responsibility, this masquerade, this lie, onto her baby sister.

Even if it means lying about loving him, letting boys play with her heart, letting girls dress her up, she'll keep letting them smile. She's a good girl, after all. A _very_ good girl. And it has to stay that way.

* * *

Hold back that follow or favorite,

And trade it for a review,

It'll serve as feedback & motivation for my writing tricks,

And otherwise, I might just slap you.

- Queen Alison the Obstinate


End file.
